Spark
by Confused-Sprite
Summary: The Capitol has fallen. The rule of Snow has been vanquished. The districts are free. But embers still need to be put out. Ashes cleared, coals cooled. The story is still not over. Join Katniss' and Peeta's children as they are pulled into a world their parents tried hard to keep them from. This is the story of the Mellark children.
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**_

_She dances on with wild abandon._ My mother is a beautiful woman. I share the same dark, flowing hair she has, but her eyes are bright and grey, like my brother's. She is small and bony, yet she is lithe and strong at the same time. Her face is worn, with lines beginning to show for it, but when she sleeps, it's like she had never faced the pain she did.

_He follows her, smiling like he is the luckiest person on Earth. _My father is strong and calm; always the negotiator, always thinking about the consequences. I possess his level head, but my brother possesses his strength, warmth, and heart. His blue eyes (the one's I own) show everything; truly the windows to his soul. They are clear and light when he feels the same way, but cold and dark when the nightmares take over.

_A laughing child follows behind, happy that his parents are smiling, after quite some time now. _My brother is loud, rash, and impulsive, but it's because he cares so much. Freckles speck his nose and cheeks, and he is lanky for his age, but his heart makes up for it all. He never ignores the chance to help, his heart always worn on his sleeves. He doubts himself sometimes, doubts he belongs. But those eyes are definitely my mother's, that hair definitely my father's.

I am the daughter of Katniss and Peeta Mellark. Everyone calls me Rose, though that is not my name. I am 13, but I know much for my young age. In fact, I know everything that is important to know; the story of Panem, the War, everything. They do not know I know. My parents I mean.

In school, we will only learn about it at 16, but Haymitch told me everything long before. He does not believe it should be kept from us for so long. He told them as bedtime stories at first, but as I grew older, I started to realise the truth behind them. By then, I was so used to listening to stories of children dying in games they didn't want to participate in, that the realisation did nothing to change my view on the world.

My favourite story is probably of the girl whom I was named after – Rue. I remember crying when Haymitch told it to me at first. It was still stories and games then. Years later, when I realised what those stories meant, it didn't bother me at all. I had already learnt that life goes on.

Much has changed I guess. This nation is no longer called Panem. It is called Mockingjay, after the bird that symbolised so much in the War. I think it's also a tribute to my mother, who gave so much. The districts all have names now. We are no longer just numbered slaves for the Government's own usage. The Capitol is still the Capitol though.

It is no longer an authoritarian government, but a diplomatic one. Our current president is President Brair. Members of the Parliament come from the Districts themselves, elected and voted for by the people. The first district still produces luxury items, the second still producing weapons. But everything's more equal now, fairer, because everyone has a right to speak up. We get to visit the other districts too now, the trains open to everyone.

There are no longer fences to cage us in. Roads have been built, connecting us all with one another. The thirteenth district has come out from the dark, with houses built on top now. The Seam is more of a middle class neighbourhood area, while what was once called the Victor's Village, for the richer ones. The Wilderness is still there, but everyone's allowed to enter it as they please. Still, little dare venture into it.

Yes, everything's much better now. Peaceful, prosperous even. Everything's much better now.


	2. What Are You Learning Today?

_**Part 1: The Shattering**_

**Chapter 1: What Are You Learning Today?**

"Shh, don't wake her up!"

"I'm not trying to doofus!"

"Kids, quiet! Your mother is a light sleeper!"

"I'm surprised she's not awake yet actually." This voice is wry and sarcastic. I roll my eyes. Haymitch. What're you gonna do?

"Okay, okay, enough," Dad says. "Come on, on three. One, two, three—"

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM!" Her eyes fly open, sitting upright immediately. A smile breaks across her face, taking in the cake and our smiling faces, but I saw that flash of fear in her eyes. I didn't think Dad would allow us to surprise her like this actually, but he did, and hence, we did.

"Oh it's beautiful. Thank you!" she gushes, pulling me and Jay onto the bed. And indeed it is. Jay (being the better baker) and Dad worked on it for days, even though it looks so simple. Frills of white around the side, with blue flowers decorating the edges on top. The message on it simply read: "Happy Birthday, to our beloved Katniss."

Dad sets it nicely on her lap, still under the covers. Haymitch settles himself onto the bedside table. Then we begin to sing. She laughs and claps happily, and so do we. It's nice being together as a family like this. Not that these moments are rare, but I long for them a lot. I don't know what I'd do if they would cease to exist.

The cake is then cut and we eat it happily, right in Mom and Dad's room. The soft, creamy texture rolls around in my mouth, the sweet, tingly taste lingering after each bite. Dad and Jay have done it again. I don't think I'd ever be able to bake like either of them, even if I worked at it for years. I'm more of a hunter, like Mom. Jay can't shoot for nuts.

The celebrations left everything in a good mood as me and Jay get ready for school. Plus, today is the first day of spring, so festivities will probably be going on in the Square, which makes everything even more exciting. Mom and Dad says we can head over there once school ends at midday. It usually ends later, but everything's been scheduled to end earlier for the Spring Festival. Even Haymitch has declared to stop drinking for today, just so he can join in the festivities, and actually remember them.

"We can leave our gloves at home now right?" Jay asks eagerly as we're heading out. Mom smiles, rolling her eyes.

"Sure sport," Dad replies, ruffling his hair, smiling too. The phone rings suddenly, and Dad goes to pick it up. Almost instantly, the smile vanishes, wiped clean off his face. He exchanges a worried look with Mom, who's not smiling anymore either. I give them a curious look.

"What's wrong?" I ask. Both attempt feeble smiles at my question.

"It's nothing honey, come on," Dad says, shaking it off, walking towards the car. Haymitch says there was a time when there were no such things as cars in anywhere but the Capitol. Now, I need Haymitch to tell me what's going on.

"I think I'll just hang back for a while," I reply, already heading towards Haymitch's house, right next to ours. "You know, check on Haymitch. I'll be in school on time, I promise."

They look conflicted, but do not protest. It took but two minutes to get Haymitch to tell me what's happening.

"Rumours were going around about people from the old Panem standing up and rebelling against this new government. If you recall me telling you, those who still supported President Snow were either banished or jailed. Well, they checked out those rumours. Turns out they're true. That call was probably to give a heads up that they might just attack today." Haymitch says this all so nonchalantly, I almost didn't believe him. My eyes widen as it all sinks in.

"But that's not possible! I mean, a bunch of pampered Capitolites? Attacking the district?"

"District_s_, with an 's'. And I didn't say Capitolites, did I? Hard to believe it, but there were some district people who supported the Snow regime."

"Career districts…" I murmur wryly. Haymitch just shrugs. I sit on his dirtied couch, thinking about it for a few more moments. It makes sense to attack today, with the Spring Festival going on. More people would be coming and going in and out of the districts, which means more people could get hurt – if that was the plan. And anyone could just slip by the checkpoints; with so many people coming and leaving, officials will have to afford be a little less thorough. But tiny numbers of "rebels"? Going against the forces Mockingjay possess?

I still think about it on the way to school, when Haymitch finally manages to shoo me out of the house. Throughout the entire day, I am wary of anything suspicious, any cause to be worried. But as midday draws closer, with the buzz of school finally ending to make way for the Spring Festival heightening every minute, and the general peace of the school and town, I begin to doubt the idea of an "attack" occurring in the district.

The bell will ring in about 5 minutes, and we will all be free. The teacher drones on about the Geography of the district. The door swings open. He is wearing black; boots steeled around the sole. He looks straight at me.

"Well hello there lovelies," he says, grinning evilly. "What are you all learning today?"


	3. I Was Afraid of Clowns

**I love the fact that no one tried to stop him from dying.**

_**Part 1: The Shattering**_

**Chapter 2: I Was Afraid of Clowns**

I remember when I was a child, I was awfully scared of clowns. Maybe it was the overly large, unreal smiles. Maybe it was the painted faces, too bright, too alien. Whatever it was, I always made my parents promise that a clown wouldn't jump out at me in the middle of the night. On my eighth birthday, surprise surprise, a clown came to visit. Uncle Gale probably thought it would be a funny joke – if a deranged eight-year-old beating up a man in a clown suit could be considered funny. The feeling was like fear had been so forcefully hit in my chest, that the only way to react to it, was to hit back. That's how I feel like right now, watching the man pull out a sword from its sheath.

I leap onto my table, stance defensive. He chuckles, grinning evilly, his grosteque scar, travelling from the top of his forehead down to his upper lip, making him look a thousand times more menacing.

"Well! You must be the famous Mockingjay's daughter! Pleasure to meet you sweetheart!" His voice is raspy, evil.

"Don't, call me that," I hiss. My voice is cold. He lets out a low whistle.

"Feisty. Got spunk," he nods, moving closer towards me, his boots making clacking sounds on the hard floor. "Like your mother I see."

Everything's moving too fast that I can't even read the reactions of my classmates or teacher. The room has gone dead silent though. As if on cue, a pin drops. _Ting._

"What do you want?" I ask icily, eyes narrow, watching him. He certainly doesn't look like he's from any of the districts I've been to. Tall with reddened skin, it looks like he's been a throughout a lot of cosmetic surgeries, not all ending in success. Maybe Haymitch is right. Some Capitolites could have some sense and strength in them to start an attack after all.

He laughs again, softly now, cruel. "Why, you of course! It will break your parents hearts wouldn't it, taking away their precious darling."

My hairs stand on end, cold prickling the back of my neck. This is how I feel like when I'm on a hunt. Something is about to happen.

A figure stands suddenly, and almost immediately, she falls to the ground. A knife lodged in her throat.

In a fraction of a second, I'm leaping through the air, as chaos unfolds in the class. Tables are kicked over, kids run wildly, but I am soaring. Jumping from to surface really, but at the speed I'm going, technicalities like that don't matter. I am heading towards the open window, but the man follows close behind. Odd how this classroom seemed so small just the day before. Now, crossing the length feels like miles.

My friends are thrashing, kicking each other, trying to escape the room. But even the corridors outside are flaming, packed with kids trying to leave the school. How did this all happen?

Screams echo around me. Flames dance at the corners of my vision. All I know is that I need to get to that window; jumping down is my only escape. The cool air finally hits me as I land on the sill. The click of a gun, getting ready to shoot, turns me around.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." The evil grin is still on his face, the gun aimed straight for my heart. I force myself to look calm, even though in my soul and all around me, chaos is breaking out. _What to do, what to do?_

Then, an object passes the window behind me, blocking out the light of the sun for just a second. Immediately, I know what it is. I had to fight the smile threatening to form on my lips; I cannot show any hope of escaping to this man. The object settles next to me, but he doesn't notice a thing.

"Do you like songs?" I ask the man suddenly, while cautiously positioning myself to be ready for an immediate fall at the same time. I do it as inconspicuously as possible so that he wouldn't notice. Thankfully, he is too caught up with my words to realise a thing.

"What?" He replies, momentarily lowering the gun, just a tad bit.

"I said…" I pretend to sound exasperated, rolling my eyes to give more effect, "Do you like songs?"

"What kind of question is that?" His hands are outstretched now, as if adding effect to his words. Just what I was waiting for.

I feel a smile playing on my lips. "Oh, no reason." Then, I whistle the Four-Note Melody. It responds almost immediately, singing it like it had been waiting for a reason to all day. In that moment of confusion, I jump.

The wind hits my face with full impact, and my hair whips out behind me; but I am not afraid. It feels like an old friend, welcoming me into its embrace, instead of an enemy I'm trying to overcome. The sensation is welcoming, and I feel free, wanting so much to spread out my arms like a bird, and fly away from the wreckage of what used to be my classroom, away from the man trying to capture me. I am in the woods again, in the trees, with my mother. But the tune whistling in the winds tell me otherwise. It will soon reach the town square, I'm almost sure of it, the mockingjays passing it on to each other, completely in love with that tune. It is where my parents will be, and they would come to save me from this man, the danger I am in. Mother tells me to only sing this tune when I am in absolute peril. I have sung it a few times before, however, but it never reaches my mother's ears. Today, I hope that it will.

I'm almost halfway down now, the ground getting closer with each of my heartbeats. The song should also be about halfway to the town, and there, it will be met by a chorus of mockingjays, alerting my parents immediately. I take in deep breath; as much as I can mid-air anyway. Mother's clear, calm voice resonates in my ears, as she instructs me on how to properly break a fall. _Arms in front of you Rose, palms outwards. Head tucked in, steady breathing. Break your fall with your hands Rose, but no more than second – then roll to your side. Take the pain in darling; be a big girl._ As this echoes in my ears, I feel the strength and bravery of my mother coursing through me; as if she's right here with me, guiding me through all the steps. Okay, I can do this. I am the daughter of Katniss and Peeta. I've got more strength in me than any beast.

I do as my mother's voice directs, palm in front, head tucked in. Only a few more meters now. Then I hit the ground. Unbearable pain shoots through my arms, sudden and immediate, the wind knocked right out of me. But my body moves mechanically, rolling to the side on instinct, even as my brain felt like mush. There is still a stinging sensation in my palms and they swelled a deep red, but I refused to let it bother my actions. Rolling onto my back, I look up and see the man glaring angrily down at me. I grit my teeth, steeling myself to endure the pain. I must start running, right now, or he will begin to shoot. I get onto my feet and dash across the fields, heading to the town square. Shots fire in the distance but they don't seem to be aimed at me; more like a signal really, because there was a tune to it. Signal to who?

Bracing the pain I feel in my arms, and the unsteadiness of my movements due to the impact of the fall it had on my body, legs and head, I ran full throttle forward. My lungs burned and my legs ached with exertion, but I do not care. I need to find my parents. I need to tell them that the attack has begun.

Everything's a blur as I run. The school is the first location. Where will they attack next?

I almost don't see it at first. But the further away from the school I run, the larger it seems to become. Fire. Fire burning through the district. The attack. The attack is already well into its climax. My district. My beautiful district, the place where I always thought I'd be safe. Not anymore I guess. Tears are streaming down my face, but I finally see them. There, off in the distance.

Seeing them gives me newfound energy, and I surge forward to meet them. Their faces are a mixture of fear and worry, but they too run faster as they spot me. Jay reaches me first, and I crash into him, not wanting to let go of his vise-like grip. Then Mom and Dad envelopes me, relief finally washing over me.

"The attack," I manage to force out between breaths. "The attack has begun."

Surprise flashes through their eyes at my knowing comment, but they only nod grimly.

"Yes, it has. Everyone in the square has been herded into trains, heading to the Capitol," Dad says.

"The evacuation of the district's own citizens were sent out too late though," Mom shoots back grimly, looking straight into his eyes. I don't have time to assess what that means.

"My school too, Rose. My school got hit too." My brother's eyes are dark, his brows set in an angry line. Knowing my brother, he probably tried harming them first before making a run for it.

Mom and Dad exchange another look, and then he nods. He holds on to me and Jay's shoulders protectively. "Rose, take Jay to the cabin, in the woods. Stay safe, stay hidden. Don't go anywhere until we come back. Do you hear me? Don't go anywhere at all!"

Mother and he are already moving towards the school, eyes set on their targets. "Wait no!" I shout, not wanting them to go away, to leave me and Jay alone, unprotected and afraid. "Where are you going? Please, don't go… I'm scared." My voice is soft, because I know I am being selfish. All I want to do, is to hide all of us in that cabin, until they go away, so that we would all be safe. But I know that cannot be.

Their expressions soften, and they turn to look at us, one more time. Father kneels down to meet my eyes. "Honey, you know we have to help those people at the school. I'm sure you know a whole lot about your Mom and I, so you should know what we do."

I don't say anything, instead, casting my eyes downwards to hide from him the shame I know he will see. His voice is still gentle. "We'll come back, as soon as we can, I promise. Alright?" Then he hugs me tight and kisses me on the cheek, and did the same with Jay; just like he would, before we go to sleep every night.

But something feels different now. The kiss he gives us just feels too wistful, the hug too tight. It's almost like there's an air of sadness looming over us. He gives us one last squeeze, before walking away. I look to my mother, and I know she has already said her goodbyes with that kiss on the forehead.

I watch them walk away, feeling Jay reach up to hold my hand; to steady me. And it is like I'm watching them walk away from us… forever.

Because I know what hangs in the air between us and our parents. The words, "_If_ we come back."

I turned around, pulling Jay with me, parting ways with my parents. Still, I fight the tears. We turned back to see them, one last time, and they are holding hands, walking into the carnage; together. We stare for as long as we can, before a blast of light wakes us from our trance, and forces us to run into our last saviour. The woods.


	4. What a Common Word

_**Part 1: The Shattering**_

**Chapter 3: What a Common Word**

We fly through the woods, never once looking back. The trees seem to clear a straight path for us, their branches swaying slightly with the breeze, as if waving, welcoming us home. The grass too react very kindly to our presence, seeming to pop back up into their original positions right after we've stepped on them. The forest is protecting us, the way it always has, years before. Years before Jay and I had been born, years before my mother even. It had provided food and sustenance for my grandfather, and now, it will provide for my brother and me security and safe shelter.

I don't feel safe until I hear the bubbling of the lake, the place we have been going to as a family to escape the bustle of the district, or just a safe place to disappear to. The cabin there has grown from a one-room little thing, to a fully functioning house with a kitchen and bathroom, two small bedrooms, a living room and a large main hall, the original structure itself. I don't know how my parents got electricity from way out here, but they did. Despite all this, no one else knew about the lake except for us – not even Haymitch. Uncle Gale might, but if he does, he hasn't visited once.

I grab Jay's hand and it's like we're energised by the sound. We dash faster, following it like a person might follow a light; guiding them home. The fresh, tangy smell greets us as we finally see the lake, but at the same moment, we crash through the front door of the cabin, all traces of the lake disappearing as the door slams shut. We breathe in the woody smell of the cabin instead. Only then do we feel safe.

It feels like hours before either of us say anything. We just sit there in the main hall, watching, waiting for something to happen.

"I feel small," Jay comments. I nod. I feel small too. Everything seems a little too big, a little too empty without my parents' presence here. Silence blankets us again. The light is turning orange when Jay speaks again. "I think we should get food and turn on the lights."

Again, I nod. "Why don't you get the fowl outside? It's getting too dark to hunt in the woods anyway. I'll set everything up for tonight."

Jay nods, going into the room we share to get his knives. He may be eight, lanky, and puny-looking, but he's got precision and strength in his throws. Not necessarily because our parents saw it fit to train us with weapons from young – more like hunting was a hobby the entire family enjoyed. I'm not as great as my Mom, but I'm a good shot.

Tonight, we eat stew with some greens I gathered from the garden we grow outside the house. Four plates are set at the table. Time passes and minutes turn to hours. Night falls and our parents still do not appear. We don't move from our seats though, and wait a little longer. As time wears on, I see Jay's head dip slightly before bopping back into place; he's eyelids drooping and fluttering open again. It becomes obvious my parents will not be coming home tonight.

I silently get up from my seat, clearing away the dishes; the cold, uneaten stew.

"To bed Jay," I whisper gently, guiding his half-awake self into the bedroom we share. I tuck him in, and turn off the lights. Everything is dark and unnerving; sinister.

As I close my own eyes, the nightmares begin.

I am walking through the school hallways, _my_ school hallways. Lights are flashing everywhere, from the classes, through the walls, through the people. They drop like flies, _plop plop plop_, as the beams merely come into contact with their skins. Fire then replaces the light, burning down the walls and everything else it comes into contact with, until everything just looks like one big field of flames. Those who weren't killed by the lights, are set ablaze and I watch unable to do anything, as they try to flee from something they simply can't escape from.

The background shifts, and I am now in my classroom. The man who tried to take me away suddenly comes into view. He is heading for the metal cupboard at the back of the room, where we keep all our art items. There is a maniacal smile on his face as he slowly creeps over, taking out a curved knife from the side of his pocket. The blade looks to be made out from the same stuff as the lights, but it is more solid, a translucent blue. He whips the doors open. A girl is hiding at the bottom shelf, shivering uncontrollably, tears streaming down her face. She tries to cower deeper into the cupboard but it's no use. Her large blue eyes show absolute fear.

"Hello there beautiful," the man whispers sadistically. He picks up a lock of her blonde hair, twirling it around his little finger.

Who is this girl? She's not a part of my class, but my mind is telling me I know her somehow. The knife he holds slices that lock of hair. Those blue eyes, that blonde hair. Who is she?

"Don't hurt me," she whispers.

He smiles. "I'm sorry honey, but I just can't control myself." Then he stabs the knife deep into her gut.

The last thing I hear are her screams, strangled and guttural, as I am tugged up into the blackness, being pulled away from my nightmare, into consciousness. With those blue eyes, staring right at me.

Even as I awake with Jay's screams echoing around the room, I am still haunted by those eyes.

They belong to Primrose Everdeen.

/Day after day passes. Our lives become a trance, going through the motions of living without really knowing what's going on, waiting for our parents to come bursting through the door, and save us from this endless pit of worry and despair. But they never do. Two nights, three nights, four. Each night is smattered with flashes of our fears coming true. And every day, we wake up and sit, right by that door, and every day, either Jay or I will venture outside to get some game. Four plates at the table each meal. Two untouched ones cleared after each meal. And then we wait some more. That's all our days have become; waiting.

By the third night, we are skeptical of our parents return. The fourth, downright doubtful. The fifth, disbelieving, and by the sixth, completely resigned to the fact that they won't be coming back. That they're gone; dead.

Death. A word I would never have associated with my parents. It's not that I've never had experience with that word before. There was my grandmother's death when I was just six, the deaths of all those tributes I hear from Haymitch's stories. The plagues I see all around me, commending the deeds of the dead in the War.

It's just that, the word seems too common to me to be used on my parents. They were Panem's heroes, the ones who brought on the Rebellion and the War. They seem so powerful to ever fall prey to death. Or even if they do, _dead_ is not a term I would use for my parents departure.

"They're not coming back Rose," Jay says as I wake up from a nightmare of more fire eating away at my feet.

"I know," I reply, looking into his eyes. "But what else can we do?"

Because really, there's nothing else we can do but sit in this cabin in safety and wait. No longer just wait for our parents to come and bring us home, because no, they won't. We're waiting for something to happen, for someone to tell us to do anything _other than wait_. We have been sent by our parents here, and someone else will have to tell us it's time to leave. Not for the district, because it is no longer safe for us. Leave for somewhere else.

I take my bow and sheath of arrows from the false bottom in the cupboard, ready for hunting in the woods. I don't let Jay venture out there, so we're both longing for game other than fowl and fish.

A thunderous knock sounds at the door. We freeze in horror. The men have finally found us.

The knock comes again, louder, more urgent this time. Thoughts fly about in my mind, but my arms move like they have a mind of their own, raising the bow that I hold in my hands, aiming for the door. Jay is beside me, he's knives at the ready.

We will go down fighting. If our parents fought to the deaths, so will we.

The knock comes again, the door shaking with the impact. I take an arrow from my quiver, putting it into place, stretching the bow back.

The door begins to shake violently, the rattling of the doorknob sending chills down my spine. I grit my teeth, gripping my bow tight. I've had a nice life.

It slams open, shaking the very structure of the entire cabin.

Before me, stands none other than Haymitch Abernathy.

And I let the arrow fly.


	5. In Memory

**Hey, this is Sprite here. :) I know those who followed this story before it was re-editted would have probably read these parts already. I'm sorry, I know I promise posting by June, but I couldn't found the time. But from now on, I'll be posting chapters every Monday so that will be for more chapters (and Mondays) before new, unreleased chapters are let out. Be patient my friend! Anyway, enjoy this chapter. :)**

**Part**_** 1: The Shattering**_

**Chapter 4: In Memory**

"What did you do that for?" He sputters, alcohol flying from his mouth. He shakes his hair to and fro like a wet dog, trying to get it out of his hair, rubbing it from his eyes, only making them water with angry, stinging tears. But it's no use. I hit the bottle right in the middle and he's now drenched in alcohol.

"You were drinking," I say finally, through gritted teeth, though hot tears stream down my cheeks. I do not lower my bow, keeping it aimed at him even though there's no arrow notched on it now. _There should be._

"So what? I drink all the time, you know that," he replies gruffly, irritated, trying and failing still at drying himself. But he doesn't look into my eyes, and there is a catch in his tone showing me he knows what he did wrong.

"You were drinking… In front of us! In front of me, in front of Jay!" I yell shrilly, unable to contain my rage, my anger at his response, my fury at this world. But more than that, all the feelings I kept bottled up for the past few days just come flooding out; despair, sadness, pain, fear, _hate_. And it melds together into one powerful, indescribable emotion that unfortunately, throws itself into Haymitch's path. Because of what he did. Because he walks in with a bottle in his hand, drinking. In front of us.

Haymitch _never _drinks in front of us. _Never. _Only something really painful, tragic, _soul-crushing, _could make him break that promise he made to my parents years ago, the day I was born. Something that he can only go through if he has a bottle in his hands.

"Their dead." It's not even a statement; it's truth.

It's not like I don't already know they're gone. I've already resigned to that fact, actually. But resignation to what you _think _is the truth is totally different from the truth itself. Even as I told myself that they aren't coming back on the fourth night here, somewhere in the back of my mind, I secretly hoped I was wrong. Even as the days pass, that doubt was probably what I craved secretly for, even from myself.

You know those moments when you're 100% sure that you did a test badly and will probably fail, but hold on to the hope that maybe, _just maybe, _you'd pass, then get disappointed in the end anyway? Yeah, like that. That's how having the truth stare back at you feels like.

The overwhelming emotions suddenly seep away from, the adrenaline and power disperses. I'm just an empty glass with all its contents spilled out. Fragile, hollow. My tears fall to the ground as my legs crumple beneath me. My bow makes a loud clanging of wood against wood, and I feel Jay's skinny arms ring themselves around my neck, holding on like a vise. Haymitch sits across from us, head low. He's done wrong and he knows it. Jay's tears seep through the fabric of my dress and for a long time, we just sat there, crying at the truth.

The Sun is orangey as we wake up from our reverie. Then I remember that it's Dad's favourite colour. My voice feels raw and new as I speak. "I think. I think we should commerate their deaths somehow. We should collect all their favourite plants, flowers and colours and build it up as a little shrine in the woods. If we can't have their bodies to bury, we'll have their essence to remember by."

So despite the growing dark, we set out into the woods, collecting anything, everything that has to do with my parents. Katniss tubers, dandellions, orangey flowers, green leaves. Mockingjay feathers, anything. Then we arrange them nicely in the middle of a circle made of pebbles and rocks, commerating their battle in the Clock Arena; the last Arena. In the largest, smoothest stone, Haymitch carved out my parents' names in beautiful, curling penmanship.

"There. At least the woods will remember them," I say, adjusting the last dandelion on the shrine. My namesake. We are quiet, wishing them well, wherever they are.

"It's sad that we can't bring this to District 13 with us," Haymitch says. I nod. I saw this coming. For where else would we go if not District 13? The only district that decided they will keep the number the old Capitol had given them; the district where all military operations are carried out. Where orphaned children of Victors went to after the War ended, where they still go to now. _Orphans. _I realise that's what me and Jay are now.

"When are we leaving?" Jay asks. He knows we have to too.

"Tomorrow." Having no clue on how I should react, I just make a guttural sound at the back of my throat that can mean anything. Twilight is ending as we head back to the cabin. I remember to walk as slowly as possible, taking in every step, every blade of grass. Feel the leaves through my fingers in ways I never have. Smell the clean, spring air. Listen to the mockingjays sing out their songs in the trees. It may be a long time before I get to experience these sensations again. Tomorrow, it will be a long trek to District 13. Then, nothing but stuffy, claustrophobic walls and tunnels of the underground. Yup, they stuck to the subterranean the moment they had the choice of staying above ground. And before, they were fighting to see light again.

"Haymitch… Did anyone else, besides our parents… Die?" I say this softly but I know Haymitch hears. I look into his eyes and force him to tell me the truth.

"Many children from the school. Random smatterings of people who were at the Spring Festivals. They had the attack planned out perfectly, and believe me, it was probably a long, arduous process. I can't imagine how such a massive operation could've gone on undetected by the Capitol. It was clean and precise. Hit the only two schools first, then as back-up is being sent out at full force to protect the children, hit the Festival which will be confused and disarrayed by then, with the lack of police control. Brilliant."

_Sinister more like, _is what I hear instead, whispering through the trees. An attack on the district, sure. I get that is what terrorists would do. But why go through the trouble of trying to abduct Jay and I? Just to mess with our parents?

These questions I bring to sleep with me as Haymitch tucks us in. And even as I feel Jay's steady rise and fall of his breath next to me, I still ponder over them, wide-eyed and too afraid to close them lest the nightmares come a-knocking.


End file.
